Breathe In, Breathe Out
by Rinata-chan
Summary: A one shot about a soldier on the battlefield. His emotions, his thoughts, his final moments.


_**A/N: **_**_This story was inspired by the song This Is War by 30 Seconds to Mars. There is violence in this so you are hereby warned. It is also not a happy story. In fact, it's rather depressing so if you'd like to read something uplifting, it might be a better idea to read a different story _**

**_This takes place during a more modern war but I'll let you decide whether it is nowadays or one of the world wars or just a war in general. That is entirely up to your interpretation. _**

**_Now maybe I should go write something happier…_**

_Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out._

The only sound he could hear was his breathing in its unsteady pace. He glanced around, looking at the faces of the other men. Some looked scared, some were praying, some were even fidgeting but not a single person looked happy. And why should they be happy? They were tucked away in a dank trench, the water seeping into their regulation boots and soaking their already cold feet. They wanted nothing more than to go home and see their mother's face, to hug their wives and children. But duty held them, binding them to the responsibility of protecting the freedom of their families.

Time seemed to slow as they checked their gear, making sure everything was ready, their heartbeats echoing in their chests.

The signal was given and everyone began moving, climbing out of the trench with great haste, just like they'd been trained to do. No longer could he only hear his breathing, it was now joined by the sound of pounding feet. They thumped along the ground, shaking the earth beneath his feet as they joined the fray. His own heartbeat matched the noise as he stayed frozen to the spot. What was he doing here? Why was he chosen? What could he do?

He felt something nudge him as the sound of gunshots finally met his ears. Glancing to the side, he noticed the boot that had fallen from above him. A confused look crossed the young man's face as he finally gained enough courage to climb out of the trench.

The smell hit him first, the smell of gunpowder. The air was thick with it along with smoke. The sounds were overwhelming and he felt himself pause again at the oddness of the whole situation. Taking a few tentative steps forward, he felt his foot knock into something. He didn't look down until a few moments later. There was a rifle just lying there, smoking. It had been shot recently. He wondered momentarily where the owner was.

Just a few steps away he found his answer. He choked back the bile that rose in his throat at the sight. There, lying on the ground in a pool of red liquid was a man from his platoon. He had been one of the men praying in the barracks. The young man knelt down, pulling a silver necklace from around the man's neck. He slipped the dog tag necklace into his pocket, memorabilia he could give back to the man's family.

His training kicked in, despite how scared he was. Kneeling down behind a large rock, he propped his rifle on his shoulder and looked though the scope. There was no one in sight. He turned the rifle to each side, searching the battlefield for some form of life as the smoke got thicker and the stench of blood mixed with the gunpowder.

He skirted out from behind the rock, keeping low to the ground as he ran onward. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something move. Without a thought, his eyes wide with fear, he turned and fired blindly. A scream of utter pain reached him, the voice familiar. He rushed his victim, falling to his knees as he recognized the man he'd just shot.

The young soldier cradled the man's head in his lap, tears running down his face as he apologized over and over again. How could he have shot one of his own friends? He looked down, watching the life drain out of his eyes as fear overtook the soldier leaning over the dead man.

He pushed the body away, scrambling in the opposite direction. What had he just done? His eyes were wide with fear as he stumbled away from the body. Another shot sounded, the sound driving closer toward him. He began to run, not knowing what he was doing, just that he needed to fight. He needed to win.

Shots rang out in the air as the heavy sound of footsteps began to fade. The only sounds now were the cries of the weak and dying followed by the gunshots and bodies hitting the ground. He ran for his freedom, his family's freedom, his life. He slammed himself to the ground behind a small barricade, feeling the small rocks and debris slam into his knees through his uniform. He ignored the pain, instead aiming his rifle at an enemy soldier only a few yards away.

He looked through the scope, angling the rifle to just the right spot but he hesitated when he saw the look of fear on the other boy's face. The enemy was just a boy, probably just turned eighteen. He still had a life before him yet here he was, in the midst of a war field looking just as scared as the owner of the rifle.

Lowering his rifle, he watched the boy for a minute. The blond boy was looking back and forth, scared that he'd be taken out at any moment. The boy suddenly turned the opposite direction, noticing his watcher. Scared, he aimed his own gun at the hiding man and fired.

The pain took a moment to hit him but once it did, time seemed to stretch on for an infinite amount of time. His breathing hitched as he fell over clutching his chest. A warm liquid spread across him as he squirmed on the dusty ground. The blonde boy ran over, skidding along on his knees as he looked at the man he'd just shot. His blue eyes filled with fear and regret.

He just kept saying the same thing over and over but the soldier had no idea what the boy was saying. Was it even English? His arm fell from his chest as he no longer had the strength to hold it there. With tears in his eyes, he watched the blonde boy run off.

Had the world always been so bright? He glanced up at the previously darkened sky but he found it tinged with white now. His extremities became numb as he lay on the ground, feeling the life flow out of him. It was the end for him, he could tell and it scared him beyond anything he could have imagined.

How would his mother react when the smartly dressed corporal showed up on her doorstep? Would she fall to her knees and cry, begging God to give her son back? Would she deny it, all the while hoping against hope that he was somehow still alive? Would she hold onto his possessions and keep his room as it had been when he'd left? She'd already lost her husband in the same manner, would she be able to handle that loss again?

And what of his sister and brother? Would they hold each other and support each other through the grief? Would they sit by the door, waiting for his figure to show up at the door even though it never would again? Would they make speeches at his funeral?

Would his fiancée break with grief? They were to be married when he returned on leave next month. They'd been childhood sweethearts since eighth grade and he could hardly imagine a life without her now. Purple and white, those were the colours there wedding was going to be. The tables decorated with white lilies, her favourite, and purple hydrangeas. She's picked out her wedding dress three weeks ago.

He felt blood trickling out of his mouth, the taste of copper overwhelming him. The end was drawing near as his body got colder and the sky got whiter. Tears blurred his vision. He'd never see his fiancée again or his family. He'd never get to see them grow old. He'd never get to experience the joy of his first child being born, the joy of raising them. There were so many thing he wished he'd had the chance to say to them, so many unsaid things.

He wanted to tell her he loved her with all his heart and that even in heaven he would love her still and protect her. He wanted to hug his mother and tell her everything will be alright. He wanted to ruffle his brother's hair and laugh along with his sister.

His heartbeat became nonexistent as he let the light wash over and take him. His final thought was not that of his mother or his brother and sister. It wasn't of his fiancée or his fellow soldiers. It wasn't of salvation for him or for the freedom of the country. His final thought was if the blonde soldier would live out a full life and whether he'd experience the life he couldn't.


End file.
